


Tristitia

by BalloonBalls



Category: A Matter of Life and Death (Webcomic)
Genre: Multi, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, What Have I Done, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:55:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalloonBalls/pseuds/BalloonBalls





	1. Chapter 1

Quiet streets of a small town always had some form of an appeal to the quiet eye, a small roar of cars here and there and little bustle of feet on the pavement ground. Always added this beautiful charm to the community itself, and the people who live inside of it. A town where you would expect to see mothers playing with their children outside on the streets and everyone gathering into your local church on quiet Sunday mornings and then discussing the little baseball team made up of the local children. A little town like this never caught anyone's eye expect for the locals who lived here.

Of course, anyone who were to say move here, not raised, was in for one hell of a surprise from this place. Though it was a small town to be sure but it had it's problems, it's problematic children. Not just rebellious children that liked to play doorbell ditch on the old guy down the street that gave out dental floss during Halloween, but kids with problems you'd find on the news or something. 'Local child sent to mental ward after trying to commit murder on his parents. Stated their reasoning was to get money for more drugs'. Shit like that, it's everywhere here. It's like a mini New York where everyone knows everyone and everyone takes a blow from anyone getting hurt in this small community. 

Yeah this place was full of fucked up things, not even going to deny it at this point. It was pretty normal to find out your next door neighbors who you've known for fifteen years is actually getting abused and was viciously murdered by their spouse in a drunken rage. But what were you to do about it? Sit in tiny prayer circles and pray with your closest friends and hope nothing that's happening to you is happening to them, but it actually is and you're doing nothing to look at the signs to stop it. Just sitting behind and blissfully watching it happen.

Of course that's what this entire town does. Doesn't matter who you are, it's just the 'charm of the town'. This town really is no different from any other town out there, and we're fine by that personally. It's pretty okay here, and we don't mind anything that goes on here. In the end it's all wrapped up in one pretty bow with pretty scenery and nice food to mask the sadness of the people around all of us, and that's okay by us. That's how most humans live anyway, walking in dazed shells to get through life. That's okay by us. 

One thing small towns teach you about is how to live in the country, birds always chirping in your ears and roasters screeching at 6 a.m. It was all okay though, it quickly becomes a homey feeling. That homey feeling is something like a warm blanket that surrounds you and cuddles you until you fall asleep, making you forget all the torn splotches in the blanket. But of course a blanket can't keep you warm like the arms of a lover ever could. A soft and gentle touch of soft skin on yours, a breath tickling against the back of your neck. That's something I've always dreamed of, figuratively and literally. 

Death open his eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them. The air was warm, but not stuffy. The entire room was warm and sweat was forming at the back of his neck and the roots of his hair. Throwing the blanket off of himself, he sat up in bed. It was warm and spring had already started. Pollen floated in the air gently, like colors dancing in the morning sun. Raising his hand to the pollen, he let it fall onto his hand and rest there. "The bees could've used you, you know. Little pollen, you come from a beautiful thing." he said, releasing the pollen into the air once again. Death wasn't his 'real' name per say, though Death took to it like it was a real name. No, his name was far from Death, but rather Des. 

He stretched, his bones cracking under the movements of his body, and he swung his long legs out of the bed and stood. Ready to start the day. Death practically shuffled his feet on the wood floor, 'moving' from his bed to the bathroom. He opened his bedroom door and shuffled out into the hall, stepping down the steps. Of course, he knew once he went downstairs he'd become wide awake by a familiar little yapping that lives downstairs that's in the form of a tiny little rat of a Yorkie named New York. Once he made it to the bottom level of his little apartment, the yapping started. "Okay, okay New York. I know, I'm going." 

New York was meant to be Death's little...cuddly alarm clock. New York was supposed to sleep in Death's bed with him, curled against him and the two of them being best friends forever and nothing could separate them. However, Death quickly learned to stop watching movies so much. New York's favorite spot was on the couch, that's where she slept every night. And she doesn't start barking to wake him up until he's gotten downstairs where he's in her line of vision. Though that's not to say Death doesn't love New York with all his heart, but still it's a bit of a downer that Death's little puppy can't actually be...useful for once. 

Death made a turn to the left, opening the bathroom door and stepping inside. His hair was a mess, flying out here and there and his clothes were all wrinkled. And of course, the scars. Death sighed, placing soft fingertips on the scars that faded over the years, but still exist as a painful reminder right on his temples on his head. He rubbed his eyes once again, and grabbed the hair gel next to his toothbrush, and his hair brush in a drawer under the sink. He started with his brush, brushing the mane on his head, trying to make it go up rather than down. His hair was an oddity to say the least, back hair that can only be described as it bunching 'up' And by bunching up it really means that it's a pile of hair that all stays up in one big mess, but at least does kind of slick back in a way.

He has a little shave in the back as well, towards the neck line. There are two strands of hair on the left and right sides that flow down to his lower neck, and curl slightly at the end. And finally, the entire middle of his mane was dyed yellow. That's not the only oddity on the man's appearance, oh no, he has much odder qualities about him that he can't control. For example, his infamous height. Coming in at a 2m30 he was the tallest guy in town, and people made sure he knew too. Of course he didn't mind his height, it gave him advantages in a sort of way. But that height didn't come with muscle either, it all just turned into skin and bones so he ends up looking like what a lot of people call him. Bean Post. 

His skin was as pale as white, and soft to the touch. His eyelashes were long and elegant, and slightly curled at the ends. Right under those eyelashes were beautiful golden amber color and glinted slightly with every glance. Yes he was a beauty, says many. Death, however, really just can't accept that fact very well. He really just didn't feel like going to work today either, getting stared at by every customer that trips over their feet while staring and walking. However a paycheck is needed, and there's nothing he could do about that.


	2. Chapter 2

The streets in this small little place are never busy, never an eye you couldn't recognize. It always has been like that, and always was beneficial when it came to running dead-end street shops. One of those dead-end street shops was a cute little bakery known as "Magnolia Sweets". It was just as sweet as the title stated, everyone who came in was a regular or becoming a regular, the bakers were always nice and polite and the baked sweets were always worth driving down dead-end streets for. 

Of course, being the owner of said shop could end up being a nightmare for a socially awkward guy, especially when that guy's nickname was quite literally something all of the human population feared, wanted to achieve, or hated passionately, Death. Fortunately for Death, no one seemed to give him hell for that, just kinda used it as a passing joke, so everything was alright. 

All the lights were off inside the little sweets shop, and a 'sorry, we're closed' sign dangled from a window. The shop was Death's everything, tied him together to his entire social life. He made friends there, he laughed with friends, met new people, and just enjoyed himself in that little bakery that was his only source of income. Sure, sometimes the shop gets annoying to tend to and not all the customers are a joy to serve. Sometimes he wishes he never opened the shop in the first place, but where else would he be without his Magnolia Sweets? He'd be in a sewer fishing for money dropped in a drainage pipe. 

Death made his way over to the wooden, dark brown door and grabbed his keys from his pants pocket. Jingling the keys, fishing for the correct one, and eventually finding the right one. A small, silver key, nothing more and nothing less. He put the key into the lock, twist, and opened, A wave of bread, or rather the scent, hit him as he walked into the shop. 

He closed the door behind him and turned on the light switch next to said door, and his entire shop became illuminated with boring, clear lights that hung on the ceiling.


End file.
